


choke this love

by nighimpossible



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Choking, Deepthroating, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Mild Sub Fjord, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 21:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14506077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighimpossible/pseuds/nighimpossible
Summary: “The idea that I’m going to apologize for stopping you fromsticking a sword down your throatis just—absurd,” Caleb hisses back. “Tell me you’re not going to do it again.”Fjord feels a little like a petulant child, but he does purse his lips in anger before replying, “Funny thing: you don’t get to tell me what to do, Caleb.” As Fjord says the words, he suppresses a shiver that slithers down his back.Stop that.





	choke this love

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 16.
> 
> Hey, super cool how Fjord vored that sword.
> 
> Thanks to Jordan and Kate for their eyes on this. Title from the Bishop Briggs song "River."

 

 

“Is _that_ how you cut your mouth? Filing your tusks?” Jester asks him, pointing at the corner of Fjord’s lip. Fjord licks at the edge of his mouth with a quick tongue. Sure enough, he tastes iron and salt. Wiping away the blood, Fjord averts his eyes from the concerned collective gaze of the group.

 

Fjord doesn’t remember slicing his lip as he pushed the blade between his teeth. The giant yellow eye floating before him, commanding him to _consume_ —that was all Fjord could think about. He needed to show that _thing_ that he was committed. That he would do what it takes to impress him. It. Whatever that eye is. Whatever it belongs to.

 

Fjord tries to bring the dream back into his mind, and it flashes across his memory in brief flickers of intensity. The cold, slick slide of the sword against his tongue. The yellow eye unblinking, always watching. Pain as the blade’s edge cuts against the back of his throat. A shiver down Fjord’s spine as his lips touch the sword’s hilt. The strange ache, deep in his belly, for his patron’s favor. A cavernous, bone-shaking voice as it murmured its approval. And then pure, unadulterated _relief:_ that he is enough. That he can take it.

 

Fjord swallows nervously and his throat feels raw.

 

“No, no. Nothing like that,” Fjord deflects. His accent comes out a little stilted. He winces as the words rub against his vocal cords like sandpaper. “Must have bit my tongue.”

 

It should be simple to sink back into the plain drawl Fjord has grown used to using with these new companions. After all, Fjord has lived as this polite, respectable person for a few weeks now. This facade that Fjord has concocted is an easy mask to wear. Fjord’s friends _like_ the person he presents as. Hells, Fjord likes the person he’s pretending to be these days, too. Maybe a little too much.

 

But that damn dream won’t leave his mind. It had felt so _real._

 

Fjord had pointedly ignored the throbbing erection he sported at dawn. Unsettling is one word for it.

 

Molly eyes him curiously, his red sclera unreadable and haunting. Fjord can’t help but think that the things he did with the sword in his dream are nothing like Molly’s morning prayers over his blades.

 

“Well: you look good this way, you would look good that way,” Jester says sweetly. She means well.

 

“Cosigned,” Caleb nods. Fjord feels something nestle against his leg, and when he looks down, Frumpkin is gazing up at him curiously. Fjord allows the cat to purr against him for a long moment before stepping away.

 

He walks towards the bank of the underground river and spits. Briefly, Fjord imagines turning the river red with the blood in his mouth—but when he looks down at the rushing water, it’s still as dark blue as ever.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Things start to settle down in Zadash after their deal with the Gentleman concludes. That’s the way life tends to go, in Fjord’s experience: there’s a regression towards the mean. Good things happen, bad things happen, but they all shake out pretty even. The world enjoys settling back into its norms.

 

The hexblade humming at his side is a constant reminder that normal is something Fjord left behind on the Menagerie Coast. The weapon’s presence is a dare: one that Fjord cannot resist taking.

 

Finding somewhere in Zadash where neither his friends nor random passerby will observe him is a little tricky. Zadash isn’t Rexxentrum, but it is still a sprawling city with many people milling about. Fjord would have stayed in their rooms at the Leaky Tap, but he’s cautious. While he trusts some of his new compatriots more than others, Fjord doesn’t need Nott or Molly walking in on him. With what Fjord has planned, he needs neither their concern nor their judgement. So Fjord excuses himself from breakfast and makes up a story about selling their manacles at the blacksmith’s under a different face.

 

“Back soon,” he reassures a curious Jester.

 

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want any _company?_ ” Jester preens, twirling a strand of her blue hair around her fingertip. “I can be very sneaky.” She changes her face in the middle of the Leaky Tap from her blue tiefling form to a beautiful, dark haired human woman. It’s impressive, but nothing close to subtle.

 

Fjord is sure. “I’m sure you’ll find something else real fun to do with that disguise on.”

 

He walks in the direction of the Pentamarket for fifteen minutes or so before ducking into a dark alley and doubling back. It’s still fairly early in the morning, and the few people who are out and about are easy enough to avoid. When Fjord comes across the small park in the Western Outerstead, he easily vaults over the chest-high gate and into the greenery.

 

The park is quiet and mostly empty, save a passed out drunk on the north-east edge. Fjord picks across the paths that lead him towards the center of the park and blissful solitude. When he is certain that he is alone, Fjord summons the blade. The pommel fills his right hand with an easy heft. The sword has lost its hooked appearance in favor for the smooth, obsidian blade it started as. Familiar barnacles climb up the hilt like the hull of an ancient shipwreck. Regression towards the mean. Fjord supposes this is the new normal. He’s always been good at adapting. His weapon should reflect that.

 

The sun’s rays that pierce through the tree canopy above Fjord soak into the darkness of the blade. It barely glints, reflecting just a hint of daylight. Fjord holds the weapon aloft, resting the flat of the blade in his non-dominant hand. _Consume_ , the great eye’s voice echoes in his ear. Fjord backs himself against the wide trunk of a tree and angles the shaft to his mouth.

 

The blade is sharper than he remembers.

 

He cuts the side of his lip as he slots the blade between his teeth. Fjord isn’t quite sure what he’s trying to do here: prove his worth, maybe. The weapon is cold on his tongue as saliva begins to gather in the back of his throat. Fjord’s eyes flutter closed as he revels in the memory of the sword sinking deeper and deeper down his throat. He is shamefully hard in his leathers, his breeches nearly bursting at the seam down the front. Still, Fjord wonders how far he can take it this time around. He presses the hexblade in further and it nicks against the roof of his mouth. The taste of iron and salt blossom on his tongue.

 

“Fjord, _stop_.”

 

Fear and confusion pump through Fjord’s veins in tandem as he opens his eyes to find Caleb standing in the park before him, Frumpkin dancing around his feet anxiously. “Are you trying for an early grave?” he asks Fjord furiously, reaching to draw the blade from Fjord’s mouth.

 

Fjord dismisses the blade as Caleb draws near and Caleb is left grasping for thin air.

 

Fjord buries his frustration as deep down as he can get it before meeting Caleb’s gaze. Anger, fear, and confusion greet him when he does.

 

“I know how this looks,” Fjord tries.

 

“You really don’t,” Caleb spits. He is now pacing back and forth in front of Fjord. “I sent Frumpkin to go with you just in case you needed help, I did not expect— _Fjord_ , what is going _on?_ ”

 

Fjord sinks down to sit against the base of the tree. “I’m not trying to die,” he starts. Better to clear that particular air earlier rather than later.

 

“Well that’s news to me, considering,” Caleb says, waving his hands at Fjord.

 

“I had a dream a few nights ago,” Fjord grits out. “Something I wanted to keep private.” He looks pointedly at Frumpkin. _Damn cat_. Caleb dismisses him with a flick of his wrist.

 

“And in the dream, you...” Caleb’s words fail him as his eyes flick to Fjord’s mouth. “With the—”

 

“That was the main gist of it, yeah,” Fjord says, cutting Caleb off. He does not want to talk about his patron a little bit, or even at all. Fjord has kept up appearances with this group. This is the first chink in his armor yet. He hopes he can stem the flow of information here.

 

“There are a lot of strange things that can happen in dreams,” Caleb says delicately. “Just because you dreamed something doesn’t make it possible. _Or practical_.” Fjord shrugs. “You understand why I was alarmed?”

 

“It’s why I came out here alone,” Fjord says.

 

Caleb purses his lips before speaking once more. “I have felt—low, before,” he starts. “If you are like that now, then if you want, we can talk about it. But I need your rational brain. And the group needs your leadership. Okay?”

 

“I wasn’t trying to die,” Fjord repeats.

 

“Fine,” Caleb says, a little irritated. “Then why were you doing it?”

 

Finally, Fjord breaks eye contact. He’s not sure if the truth is going to make him seem insane. Fjord has his veneer of rationality, and it’s not something he’s trying to tarnish. Especially not in front of Caleb.

 

However. There aren’t a lot of good explanations for what Caleb saw.

 

The truth, then.

 

“It felt good,” Fjord admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

“Excuse me?” Caleb asks.

 

“It _felt good_ ,” Fjord says loudly, annoyed at having to repeat himself. “In my dream. And just now.” He looks up at Caleb from his seated position on the ground, daring him to object. “Is that answer enough?”

 

As understanding settles over Caleb, he turns beet red. “Well,” he murmurs, looking away from Fjord. “Well.”

 

“You happy you followed me out here?” Fjord asks scathingly. “By the way, _real_ glad to know I have your trust.” Fjord crosses his arms over his chest.

 

“The idea that I’m going to apologize for stopping you from sticking a _sword down your throat_ is just—absurd,” Caleb hisses back. “Tell me you’re not going to do it again.”

 

Fjord feels a little like a petulant child, but he does purse his lips in anger before replying, “Funny thing: you don’t get to tell me what to do, Caleb.” As Fjord says the words, he suppresses a shiver that slithers down his back. _Stop that_.

 

“Well, maybe you need someone else in charge, if you’ve got some kind of _death wish_ —”

 

“There’s a difference between wanting to die and wanting _something_ ,” Fjord snarls. “But clearly you haven’t figured that out yet.” Fjord gets into Caleb’s space, and to his credit, Caleb doesn’t back off. There’s a long beat where the two men stand less than an inch apart, separated by fury and something else: a subtle, intoxicating heat that brings a flush to Fjord’s cheeks. “You don’t approve? Caleb, I don’t need your damn approval.”

 

But Caleb doesn’t seem to register Fjord’s digs. Instead, a thoughtful expression crosses his face. “Maybe you just shouldn’t use a sword next time.”

 

Fjord stills as Caleb grows even more flushed. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

“We really should go back to the Leaky Tap,” Caleb deflects, attempting to step back from Fjord. Fjord grabs at the front of Caleb’s coat and keeps him close. He’s still…frustrated. And Caleb is smart. If he has an idea, it might be something to try. Fjord has to admit that sword-swallowing might not exactly be in his repertoire.

 

Caleb doesn’t move back as Fjord lets go of his coat. “If it’s a good idea, I’ll try it,” Fjord says quietly. This admission feels like a defeat. It’s not that Caleb has bested Fjord, but that Fjord has been beaten by his own desires. He’s willing to try anything to feel satisfied.

 

Caleb takes a deep breath before suggesting, as casually as he can apparently manage, “Get on your knees, then.”

 

“Oh,” Fjord says, the word slipping out before he can stop it. Fjord’s frustration, pressed down deep in his chest, begins to rear its ugly head. _Yes_. “That’s—that’s your idea?” Fjord can feel his mouth start to water.

 

“It was just a thought—” Caleb says, embarrassed, but Fjord is maneuvering onto his knees in the dirt already.

 

Fjord licks his lips, eyes focusing on Caleb’s belt. Hard in his leathers, Fjord is already anticipating the feeling of something hitting the back of his throat. It’s not a want, but a _need_. “A good thought.”

 

Caleb makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a whine. “Give me one minute,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a spool of thread. Fjord rolls his eyes and Caleb smirks. “What, you’re so ready for it you can’t wait for a proper alarm spell?”

 

“ _Shut up_.” It’s Fjord’s turn to flush. Fjord’s impatience is embarrassing and he knows it. He looks away from Caleb but stays on his knees obediently. In turn, Caleb takes his time laying the thread in a wide circumference around them, like he knows that Fjord is eager. He probably can see how Fjord’s pupils have blown wide at the mere thought. Caleb has always been perceptive.

 

“Can you get over here?” Fjord announces grumpily as Caleb lays a tiny silver bell at the edge of the spell’s coverage.

  
Caleb looks down at Fjord from across the clearing before making a decision. “I want you to back up against the tree. It will be harder for passersby to see you.”

 

The tree is rough but steadying behind Fjord’s shoulder blades. He settles against the trunk as Caleb finally approaches. Caleb is clean, thanks to Jester’s insistence of a bath yesterday, his face framed by a halo of orange hair backlit by the late morning sun. Fjord makes quick work of Caleb’s belt, tugging down his pants to the thigh.

 

“Have you done this before?” Caleb wonders aloud. He holds back a hiss as Fjord takes his half-hard cock in hand. “Not with a sword, I mean.”

 

“No,” Fjord says honestly. While he’s bedded people before, he’s not taken up with many men. Those that did find their way across Fjord’s path had seemed concerned by Fjord’s tusks, despite how filed down they were. “If I’m bad, just do me the favor of not tellin’ me.”

 

“Okay,” Caleb says simply.

 

Fjord wets the tip of Caleb’s cock with his tongue. Salty and hot, the taste of Caleb’s skin against his tongue is nothing like taking the hexblade down his throat. Fjord thinks that he likes it all the same. He goes slow, lingering on the head as Caleb groans, leaning against the tree above Fjord’s head for support. Fjord puts a hand on Caleb’s hip and draws him in a little closer. Fjord relaxes his jaw and draws Caleb inside.

 

Fjord doesn’t take him too deep, but he starts to feel a slow drip of that same sweet ache from his dream. He whines at the familiar sensation and clutches at Caleb’s hips. “Holy shit,” Caleb mutters. His hips roll forward of their own volition, pushing his cock even deeper inside Fjord’s mouth. It’s too deep, gagging Fjord, and yet—

 

As he chokes, a jolt of pleasure nearly shatters him from the inside out. His hips jerk of their own volition, and Fjord doesn’t even try to hold back an aching whine. _Yes_ , this was what Fjord has been craving since his dream. This is what he wants. He wants to choke on it. He wants to feel breathless.

 

Caleb pulls back immediately.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says with a wince.

 

Fjord looks up at him, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He still feels a little rocked at the realization. “How much hell are you gonna give me if I ask you to do that again?”

 

Caleb curses in Zemnian under his breath before answering in Common. “Oh, just a little,” he says, pressing himself against the edge of Fjord’s open mouth. “When you least expect it, of course.”

 

“That I can take,” Fjord mumbles, pressing his tongue against Caleb.

 

They settle into an easy rock of Caleb’s hips as Fjord adapts. Even if blowing someone is new, Fjord has always been quick on his feet. Maybe even quicker on his knees. One of Caleb’s hands starts threading through Fjord’s hair gently, in stark contrast to how he’s ruining Fjord’s mouth just a few inches below. His lips are swollen and sensitive to the touch. Spit drips down Fjord’s chin messily, and he knows he must look ruined. He doesn’t much care.

 

Fjord times a particularly rough pump of Caleb’s hips with press forward of his own neck. Caleb hits the back of Fjord’s throat and it feels _blissfully_ good, even as he chokes. Perhaps especially as he chokes. He can feel Caleb’s hesitation and, instead of letting him go, Fjord pulls him in by the hips. He runs a pleading thumb across the curve of Caleb’s exposed hip. This is what he needs.

 

“You feel—” Caleb groans as his hips become more erratic. “You feel so _fucking_ good.” It’s a sentiment Fjord echoes silently as he sucks Caleb down each time. Caleb pauses, his cock waiting at the parting of Fjord’s lips, before saying, “I think you can hold it there.”

 

It’s a calculated risk. One that Fjord is dying to make. He just nods.

 

Caleb’s slide inside Fjord’s mouth this time is inexorable, slow, and deliciously hot. Caleb only stops pressing forwards when Fjord’s lips meet the root of his cock. “Good boy,” Caleb praises, and Fjord’s eyes flutter at the compliment. “Your mouth was made for this.” It’s a heady phrase. Caleb is probably just being nice.

 

Fjord chokes a little but Caleb doesn’t let up, simply lingers at the back of Fjord’s throat. Caleb is pressure and fullness and _heat_ —Fjord can’t— _fuck_ , it’s too much. Tears form at the corners of Fjord’s eyes as his hips jerk. Warmth fills his leathers as he comes in his pants like a damn teenager. But Fjord will save his judgements for later. For now, he’ll ride this high for as long as possible.

 

Fjord nudges at Caleb’s thigh and he pulls out, a line of saliva dragging between Fjord’s lips and the head of Caleb’s cock. Fjord gasps for fresh air, his lungs burning in his chest. He sputters and coughs for a solid minute until an exhausted blissful feeling settles over him. When his breath starts to come a little easier, Fjord reaches for Caleb.

 

“Are you sure—” Caleb asks tightly.

 

“Come here,” Fjord interrupts, taking Caleb back in hand and jerking him smoothly, his movements eased by the slickness of his own spit. Caleb is on the edge and it takes little further effort to send him spilling over. Caleb’s quiet cry of ecstasy is further muffled by the elbow of his coat.

 

The park is quiet around them as Caleb pulls his pants up and Fjord collapses against the tree. Fjord drifts into a quiet mental space while Caleb stands over him, blocking him from view entirely to the rest of Zadash. Fjord feels at ease for maybe the first time since he got this damn sword.

 

“Didn’t know you had that in you,” Fjord finally admits, glancing up curiously. His voice sounds raw to his own ear, and by the way Caleb is looking down at him, he must be an absolute mess. Fjord doesn’t much care what exactly he looks like, considering the pleasant gooey feeling that is seeping through his veins in the afterglow. His whole body feels heavy, like it’s been pumped full of lead.

 

“They’re going to ask you if you gargled nails at the smithy,” Caleb points out before kneeling down next to Fjord.

 

Caleb takes the corner of his own cloak in hand and starts wiping at Fjord’s face. “The next time you feel the urge to go sword swallowing,” he says softly, cleaning Fjord up with a gentle hand, “know that there are alternatives. Safer alternatives.”

 

“Yeah,” Fjord nods. “Alright.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be me,” Caleb points out.

 

Fjord finally looks up at Caleb. “What, is this shit too weird for you?”

 

Caleb’s brow furrows. “I’m just trying not to take advantage of you.”

 

 _That_ Fjord laughs at. “I think _you_ taking advantage of me is the least of my concerns at the moment.” He hauls Caleb in close to kiss him once, soundly, on the mouth. “Thank you. We’ll do it again some time.” Fjord grins as he pulls back. “That’s the thing about urges. Never know _when_ they’re going to strike.”

 

Fjord is met with an astonished but bemused expression. “This is going to become a thing, isn’t it?” Caleb asks.

 

Fjord shrugs. “Would that be so bad?”

 

“No. Not so bad.” Caleb helps Fjord up to stand as he answers a question with a question. “Any chance you’re going to tell me about that dream of yours?” he asks carefully.

 

Unconsciously, Fjord’s hand drifts to his belt where the hexblade rests in its pocket dimension. He threads his fingers against one of his belt loops. “You know, play your cards right—maybe.”

 


End file.
